


to purify

by worry



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Serial: s126 Terminus, Trapped In A Closet, there's no tag for 'trapped in a vent so they have sex'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: “Sorry, are you suggesting that we—”“You know what I’m suggesting. What do you say?”The Doctor leans in closer, breathes onto Turlough’s neck, hot and damp and - perfect, every dream he’s ever had wrapped up and brought to life. This isn’t going to be easy. He doesn’t want to harm the Doctor, that is the last thought on his mind and the omnipresent one. What is he going to do when it’s time to—“And what is it that you want to do to me, Turlough?”(Instead of Tegan and Turlough trapped together in Terminus, it's Turlough and Five. I bet you can't guess what happens next.)





	to purify

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching Terminus today and got the worst-best idea ever. It's 3 in the morning.

Turlough has imagined scenarios like this before: trapped in tight spaces with beautiful people, no hope of release except for your own, no choice except intimacy. He spent most of his time on Earth daydreaming; what else is there to do when you’re stuck on a planet you abhor besides dream? Dream of something to make him want to go on, dream of something so beautiful that it would make Turlough want to continue, _live,_ despite Earth’s cold-bar prison. It is certainly much more interesting than academics. School uniforms, despite their representation to Turlough of that same imprisonment, can be used for better things. You can use ties to - well, _tie,_ restrain, hold back in the way he has never been able to hold himself back, and his boring uniform would look more appealing on someone else, beneath him. He has imagined these scenarios before in great detail, every movement, every breath, every touch.

 

But he never thought it would unfold with someone he is supposed to destroy. The Doctor has been pounding at the crate for far, far too long (Turlough had given up only seconds after attempting), the Doctor has been struggling for far, far too long (a sad, beautiful sight), the Doctor’s main goal, rightfully so, seems to be getting them _out_ of the vent and finding Nyssa and Tegan. _Turlough’s_ main goal should be simple: kill the Doctor, earn his freedom, and he can nearly hear the Guardian’s voice, _destroy him, now is your chance, boy,_ **_kill him, kill the Doctor,_ ** but the universe will give him other opportunities to fulfill his duty. Maybe he can get some fun out of this, get what he can until the inevitable happens.

 

(He could tell the Doctor about the Guardian and it would all be over, he has a room on the TARDIS now, he has a way off of Earth, the Doctor could help him, the Doctor could save him and touch him and save him, the Doctor _could._ He could do so many beautiful things. Turlough, however, just cannot be saved.)

 

“Doctor,” he says calmly, stretching himself out as much as he can, “you and I both know that struggling is useless. We’re trapped in here.”

 

The Doctor sighs. “For the time being… yes, it seems that we are.”

 

“How long until they come looking for us?”

 

A frown. He manages to look handsome even when disappointed. “You don’t seem very concerned with getting out.”

 

“Oh, we’ll get out eventually,” Turlough smiles. “And then you can save the day… actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Doctor.”

 

“About what?”

 

A hand is strategically placed on the Doctor’s thigh; it’s both entirely innocent and entirely suggestive, and he looks down at Turlough’s hand, back up into Turlough’s eyes. Not pleasure, yet. Confusion. The Doctor could make any facial expression he wanted, say anything he wanted, and he would still be beautiful. Something in Turlough wishes that the Doctor was truly evil and sinister. That would make it easier, and he’d be finally capable of doing good, Helping, saving the day himself. A hero. He never wanted to be a hero until meeting the Doctor; it’s an infection, the Doctor infects you and you fall and everything changes and you fall and you transform and you fall and you Become. It’s sickening. It is, truly, sickening, but Turlough hasn’t felt a pull like this in - a very long time - we don’t think about the last pull. We just don’t, erase it. He is here now with the Doctor and it’s not supposed to be tragic.

 

“You go around saving the day and helping people…. flying everywhere in your TARDIS… but do you ever get any time to yourself?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Alone time. Do you ever get a chance to relax? You know, Doctor. Do you ever take care of yourself? Surely you must feel the need... at least _sometimes,_ right?.”

 

He takes another glance at Turlough’s hand, and he looks, for a moment, like he _gets it,_ like he knows what Turlough is truly asking. It doesn’t stay very long, leaves the Doctor’s face like finally leaving Earth. Is the concept of someone _wanting_ him, hard and soft, every part and every touch and every noise, just too terrifying for the Doctor to grasp?

 

“I like to read, you know, in-between saving the day.” He laughs. “I like to think I’m well-read. Of course, I do have every book ever written at my disposal thanks to the TARDIS.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

The Doctor raises his eyebrows, softly moans (oh) (oh) (oh), “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were asking me something entirely different.”

 

“Do you really know better?” Turlough asks. “You haven’t known me long. How would you? So, tell me, Doctor, what do you think I’m actually asking you?”

 

His face is also beautiful when it is red. “I… I think you might be asking me if I… um… ‘get off’?”

 

“Is that what you’d want me to be asking you?”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Turlough smiles, again. Thinks about the world, and every dream he has ever had. None of them compare to this. He can feel the _want_ radiating off of the Doctor; maybe, on second thought, it is fear, but they’re the same. Fears involve wants: you don’t want to be scared, so you do everything in your power to make the fear go away. Every life is filled with wants. We all want. We all fear. The Doctor seems to be an alluring mixture of emotion.

 

“You know, there’s a game my friends taught me a while ago.”

 

“A game?”

 

“It’s called ‘seven minutes in heaven’. Have you heard of it?”

 

“Probably. What are the rules?”

 

“Well, simply put, they lock two randomly chosen people in a closet for seven minutes, and during that time those two people are allowed to do whatever they want to each other.”

 

“Seems like it’d have consequences. You’ve played it before?”

 

Turlough shakes his head. “No, not yet. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re pressed up next to each other in a vent we can’t escape from, and I’d say there’s more than seven minutes before they realize we’re gone.”

 

“Sorry, are you suggesting that we—”

 

“You know what I’m suggesting. What do you say?”

 

The Doctor leans in closer, breathes onto Turlough’s neck, hot and damp and - _perfect, every dream he’s ever had wrapped up and brought to life._ This isn’t going to be easy. He doesn’t want to harm the Doctor, that is the last thought on his mind and the omnipresent one. What is he going to do when it’s time to—

 

“And what is it that you want to do to me, Turlough?”

 

“Get on your back.”

 

“I don’t know if I can.”

 

“Well, just - try.”

 

He pushes himself out into the next corridor, eventually managing the perfect position for what Turlough has in mind, what Turlough dreams about: on his back, feet together, hands open forward. It’s the anatomical position, but more interesting, more warm.

 

“What now?”

 

“Now, I’m going to kiss you. Are you okay with that?”

 

“I’m more than okay with that,” replies the Doctor, and Turlough stops dead. It’s one thing, one terrifying thing, to want someone. It’s different, a new kind of terrifying, when that person wants you back.

 

Positioning himself on top of the Doctor in such a tight space is not something he thought through when he made his command, motivated only by _want, need, overwhelming desire,_ but he somehow, somehow, divinely, finds a way to fit and then they are only thing in the universe that matters. Not Earth, not freedom, not finding the TARDIS, not the Guardian, just Turlough and the Doctor and need.

 

So here’s what should happen: they kiss and the power of love saves Turlough and he never has to kill the Doctor. Everything in time and space is neutralized; there is no hostility, and the world is perfect. But wouldn’t a perfect world be _boring?_ That is not what happens, that’s a different story, a mere tale.

 

Here’s what actually happens:

 

They kiss until everything is too intense, until there is both too much space around them and not enough space around them, they kiss until the end of the world or until everything on this ship is sorted out or until the very last hours of all existence and then the Doctor slips his hands underneath Turlough’s trousers and grips the skin on his hips. The touch makes Turlough feel appreciated, feel loved instead of simply wanted, and it’s the most dangerous thing he has ever encountered, love being a danger, love just getting in the way, love wanting to ruin him too.

 

And then the Doctor whispers _can I_ and pulls Turlough down firmer onto him, feels every part of Turlough and his desire, and bucks his hips up, a beautiful roll, a beautiful everything. It’s the final straw. He should not have done that, despite the fact that Turlough wanted it. He should not have done that because now Turlough will turn into what he always has been: a troublemaker, reckless, out of control, wild.

 

He bites gently at the Doctor’s neck, runs his teeth over the skin. What is the physiology of the Doctor’s species? If they are anything like humans, he could—

 

“Do it again,” he whispers, “go faster.”

 

He grinds against Turlough, uses Turlough’s body in the only right way, everyone else has used him but with the Doctor’s hands he is helpless, he actually thought _he_ was in control. His being belongs to the Doctor. His body was made for the Doctor to use, and he is making the best of it. They will find a way out of the enclosure eventually. This can’t last forever. The thrusts are getting faster, rougher, and it’s the only pure thing he’s ever had, and he could kill the Doctor here and kill that purity that he doesn’t need or deserve, and he could, he could. He could.

 

Instead he lets it happen, and the world blurs into a mess of - purity - and color - and pleasure. He collapses, quite weakly, quite embarrassingly, on top of the Doctor, on top of the man he just can’t kill, and says: “Doctor… I have to tell you something about why I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, pls tell me what you think!:)


End file.
